


Hunting the Hunter

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was eleven when he watched his mother die right in front of his eyes. Seven years later, Stiles is one of the best hunters out there. He'll stop at nothing to find the werewolf that killed his mother, and he's willing to take out any others that he crosses paths with on the way.</p>
<p>When Stiles nearly gets run over by an attractive guy after a hunt, he doesn't try to look past Derek's good looks to see what's underneath, but it turns out he's not the only one looking to avenge a fallen family member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting the Hunter

Seven years ago, his mother died.

Stiles had been eleven at the time. They were camping out at Merdock Lake. They always went there over summer, his mom, his dad, and him. Some years, Scott and his mom would come too, if Melissa could get off work.

Their campsite was modest sized, and close to the lake. That meant that it was also one of the farthest camps from the bathrooms.

Stiles loved being near the lake, loved getting up every morning to go swimming, loved spending the afternoon in the sand, sometimes sleeping, sometimes building sandcastles with his mom, who made the _best_ sandcastles. But at night, he hated it. He always had to go to the bathroom, and he couldn’t go alone.

Stiles could remember it all clearly. He could remember waking his mom up, and her blinking at him slowly and rolling her eyes when they finally focused on him. He could remember her exasperated sigh and the smile on her face that conflicted with the gesture.

Most of the other campers around them were asleep, though there were a few people still up, fires lit, laughing and talking with each other.

Stiles had held his mother’s hand all the way to the bathroom. Sure, he was eleven then, and he was officially a grown up, in his own eyes, but he was man enough to admit that, yeah, walking to the bathroom building in the middle of the night, surrounded by nothing but trees and the occasional campsite, was kind of terrifying.

She leaned against the wall and waited outside as he went into the boys bathroom. It smelled gross in the bathroom, and it was empty except for him. He could hear the sounds from outside, the occasional bird chirping and yell from some of the rowdier campers.

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands so quick that he almost forgot to turn off the water. The insides of the bathrooms were just as creepy as the outside.

Before he got to the door, though, he heard it. The loud, high pitched, terrified scream. It made him feel cold all over, made goosebumps break out on his skin. He’d wanted to hide in one of the stalls and wait for his dad to come get him, but he couldn’t. Because that was his _mom’s_ scream, and he had to help her.

He pushed open the swinging door and he watched the scene unfold, frozen still, caught in her graze. The thing that attacked her almost looked human. It had the right shape, but the rest of it was off. The eyes glowed, the teeth were too long, and the hand he had around her throat ended in long, pointed claws.

“ _Go back inside,_ ” his mom had shouted, using that tone that she reserved only for when she was really upset with him. The one that he rarely disobeyed.

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away, not as she started crying, not as the thing drew blood with it’s nails, and not even when he ripped out her throat with his teeth. He watched it all, watched the blood drip down her neck, soaking the pale blue shirt she’d been wearing, watched as the thing dropped her, and she hit the ground with a thud and then laid there, unmoving, not even her chest rising and falling with breath.

And then it looked at him, with those glowing yellow eyes, and started to step towards him. A beam of light appeared first, though, and lit up the scene before them, and then it ran.

After that, everything was chaotic. Someone got his dad for him, another asked him over and over what happened. Stiles couldn’t do anything. He just stood there, staring at his mother’s glassy eyes, until finally his dad came and scooped him up into his arms. He distinctly remembered his dad’s tears falling onto him as he looked down at his dead wife, but everything else was a blur or noise and deafening screams, most of which were his own.

In the years that passed after that, Stiles couldn’t forget the eyes. Not his mother’s, but the yellow ones. The ones that appeared in not just his nightmares, but his dreams. The ones that he could have sworn he seen outside his bedroom window every night. The ones that kept him for going out after dark.

And when he was a bit older, he started to look into everything. Started to look into what it was that killed his mother. Everyone said it was a bear that had wandered in to camp. No one believed Stiles’ story about the man with the claws and the fangs and the yellow eyes. He was a kid who watched his mother die. Of course he’d make things up to cope with it.

He knew, though, that what he’d seen was real. Eventually, he found proof of it. And a name for the beast.

Werewolf. Of course, he’d seen the movies. He’d read a few books, too. He should have been able to put the pieces together before, but it wasn’t until he stumbled upon an article online after spending countless hours searching for _something_ , that he finally got it.

From there, he started looking for more information, looking for any way to find the guy who killed his mom. It became an obsession. An unhealthy one. Both his dad and Scott commented on his behaviour, became worried about him, but he didn’t care. They didn’t understand.

Then he met MadWorld87 in an online forum. He was one of the only people who seemed to actually know what they were talking about. MadWorld lived in New Jersey. He told Stiles after a while of them conversing that the reason he knew about this stuff, knew about werewolves, was because he was a hunter. His whole family had been trained and taught to kill werewolves and protect people.

Stiles wanted in.

 

* * *

 

Stiles crouched down to stay out of view. The dumpster he was hiding behind smelled like shit, and it definitely wasn’t the ideal camping spot, but the smell would mask his scent, so that was a plus. Not that he was worried about the ‘wolf smelling him. He wasn’t the only one on the hunt that night, and he knew that the best way to get his prey in his sights was to bait him, and who better to use as bait but yourself?

The thing about werewolves is that they’re good at tracking. Scent, sound, sight, they’re all enhanced. It makes sneaking around hard. But, they’re also stupid. They don’t think about the fact that they can be heard, too, and it often gets them caught.

Like right then, for instance. Stiles would have had no warning of the ‘wolf approaching him, if the thing hadn’t kicked that soda can like a dumbass. But he did, and the metallic tin bounced off the ground with a quiet but detectable sound.

Stiles pulled his knife from his pocket and sucked in a breath, and counted to three. On the third, he jumped.

It was almost painfully easy to get the blade into the man’s throat. He hadn’t expected Stiles to know he was coming. Stiles threw all his weight into the leap, and managed to tackle the guy to the ground before the ’wolf could even react. After that, he’d only had seconds to finish the job, or he’d be dog food.

Stiles was far too good at what he did, though, and the knife scraped the ground with a grating sound when he went straight through the flesh of the werewolf’s throat. Knifes typically didn’t kill werewolves, and most hunters preferred wolfsbane laced bullets or a katana, a knife long enough and sharp enough to slice through the entire body, affectively severing the werewolf in half.

Stiles was one of the only hunters who was smart enough to use a wooden blade, made of a specific tree, one that affectively cut off the werewolf’s ability to heal, and it made his attacks quicker and more surprising. You’d be stupid to get too close to a werewolf with a huge knife, or a gun. But with a small dagger, you had to.

Stiles pulled his knife out of the werewolf’s throat and scrunched up his nose as blood flowed not only from the wound, but from the thing’s mouth. He wiped the blade on the guys dirty jean jacket and then shoved his knife back into the holster.

“I’d say that you should think twice before hunting down a hunter next time, but I don’t think you’ll be getting the chance to,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. The man let out one last wet, gargling sound, and then his chest stopped moving and his arms fell loosely at his sides.

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving the body in the alleyway. There wasn’t anything that they’d be able to trace back to him. Plus, his job was to take them out, not to clean up afterwards.

Once on the street, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled a familiar number. Mads picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?” were the first words out of his mouth.

Stiles snorted. “You’re always so friendly.”

Mads made an annoyed sound. “Did you finish it?” he asked, though, instead of barraging Stiles on his exact location, which he was prone to do on a bad day.

“Of course I finished it,” Stiles said testily, his freehand sliding over the knife that was hidden under the material of his jeans, just to be sure that it was still there. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Mads chuckled. “Fair point,” he admitted. “Just checking. Formality. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, and I still think it’s bullshit,” Stiles told him as he stepped off the curb of the sidewalk and onto the street. “But are you--?”

His whole world was suddenly thrown off balance. The phone slipped from his fingers, and a loud screeching sounded in his ears as he hit the ground hard enough for it to feel like his head was splitting in half.

He wanted to close his eyes and just take a minute to let the pain pass, but Stiles was too well trained for that. He scrambled to his feet, hand instantly reaching for his knife, ready to fend off his attacker.

Except he wasn’t being attacked.

The man who hit him with his car jumped out of the vehicle with a panicked look on his face. His _attractive_ face, Stiles noted.

“Shit,” the guy groaned. “You okay? You jumped in front of my car, I didn’t have time to stop--,”

“I’m good,” Stiles said, letting his hand fall away from where it had been groping for his knife. “But you should watch where you’re going, dude.”

The guy’s eyes-- blue or green, Stiles couldn’t tell-- narrowed, and he looked like he was about to snap something back at Stiles, but then thought better of it since he was the one who _hit Stiles with his freaking car_.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again, running a hand through his thick, styled hair.

Stiles let his eyes slowly descend down the man’s body, taking in the expensive, flattering jeans, the tight grey shirt that outlined every deliciously defined muscle, and then the strong jaw, the week old stubble, and once again the eyes. “I don’t know,” Stiles said slowly, even though he really did. He was fine. He’d gotten hurt a hell of a lot worse than that more times than he could count. “I feel kind of dizzy.”

Stiles could almost see the guy processing Stiles’ words, taking in the implications of his gaze. Could see the gears working, the pieces snapping together, and then he grinned, or smirked, actually. That was definitely a smirk. “Maybe I should buy you coffee, make sure you’re okay.”

“Or maybe you should take me home,” Stiles suggested, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The guy raised his eyebrows in surprise at Stiles’ directness, and Stiles paused to explain himself. “I don’t eat out,” he told the man. “When I was twelve I found a mouse in my soup at a restaurant and I’ve refused to eat anywhere since then.”

It was about then that Stiles realized they were standing in the middle of the street, the guy’s car parked at a precarious angle, door hanging open, still running. The street they were on was nearly deserted, though, and the only car that had been down it in the time since he’d been hit had just driven past them.

“How about I just drive you home,” the guy bargained.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m good,” he said. “But you really should be more careful with your driving,” he added as he started walking in the direction he was originally headed, leaving his assaulter behind.

He didn’t take people home. It was his number one rule.

He didn’t live alone. He lived with Mads and his girlfriend, Amy, both of whom were hunters. Taking someone home could be dangerous for all of them, because no matter how careful you were, sometimes even the most terrifying monsters could wear deceptively friendly masks.

“Wait,” the guy called, and Stiles paused and turned around, arching an eyebrow.

“Can I at least get your number?” the guy asked, and Stiles barely repressed a satisfied grin. This guy was seriously hot, okay, and it wasn’t that Stiles didn’t have game. He totally had game. Just not usually with someone so far out of his league.

But, sadly, he had to say no. “I don’t give my number to strangers,” Stiles said playfully, though he was dead serious. His phone was used to contact Mads and a few other hunters only. If he gave his number to someone else, and risked the chance of missing a call from one of them, it could be potentially dangerous. Plus, Stiles was a bit paranoid. He could admit to that.

The guy looked a bit disappointed, but he shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “See you around…?”

“Miles,” Stiles offered.

“I’m Derek,” the guy replied, extending his hand.

Stiles gave it an amused look before taking it in his own and shaking it once. Derek had thick, smooth fingers, and Stiles squeezed them just a bit, just to see how he’d react. He didn’t.

“Nice to meet you Derek,” Stiles said as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “Your car is still in the middle of the street.”

Derek turned and gave it a quick, uncaring glance before turning those eyes back to Stiles. Underneath the street light, Stiles figured they looked more blue than green. “Can I at least give you my number?”

Stiles let out an amused breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very persistent person?” Stiles asked, but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up a new contact page, quickly typing Derek’s name into it.

“Only when I really want something,” Derek said with another smirk. He rattled off his number quickly, and Stiles put it into his phone, even though he knew he’d most likely never use it.

“Goodbye, _Miles_ ,” Derek said when Stiles shut his phone. He turned without another word, walking back to his still running car. Stiles took a moment to really appreciate how tight Derek’s pants were, and then started heading home.

 

\--

 

Back at the house he walked straight past Mads, who punched him hard in the shoulder for it and then demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking a shower, I hid behind a dumpster,” Stiles said casually, slipping past him.

“We’re going out in half an hour, your ass better be ready by then,” he called as Stiles headed up the creaky stairs of their old house.

“My ass is always ready!” Stiles yelled over his shoulder.

He only faintly caught Amy’s comment of, “Is that even possible? Or sanitary?”

It was tradition for them to go out and get wasted after a good night of hunting, and Stiles appreciated it that night more than usual. Apparently he had a thing for hot guys who hit him with their cars, because Stiles couldn’t get Derek out of his head. Not during the shower -- which he had to run colder than usual --, not while he got dressed, and not even during the ride to Carpenter, the bar that was run by a friend of Mads’, a guy who’s main costumers were always hunters.

“What can I get you, cutie?” Jess asked as he slid onto one of the stools in front of the bar.

Everyone knew he was underage. That wasn’t really a big deal at Carpenter, though. “Whatever, just make it strong,” Stiles told her, as he always did.

Jess nodded and grabbed a bottle of off the wall and poured a bit into a small glass before adding a handful of ice cubs to it and not nearly enough Pepsi to dilute the flavour. She slid it across the counter to Stiles, and then leaned her elbows on said counter and watched him down it in one sip, the ice cubes clanking loudly against his teeth.

“Your dad called,” she said as soon as he swallowed, which was probably a good thing. He would have definitely spit his drink out if it was still in his mouth.

“I knew I should have blocked the number,” Stiles groaned, running a hand over his face. “What’d he say? Is he sending the national guard?”

“He just wanted to know if you were okay,” Jess said quietly, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

Stiles sighed. “Damn it,” he pushed his glass towards her. “Refill. Please.”

Stiles missed his dad every day of his life. They were never close, not the way that he was with his mom, and especially not after her death, but he was all Stiles had, really, except Scott. But he’d cut Scott out of his life, too. It just wasn’t safe for either of them. If they got caught up in any of the shit Stiles dealt with, he could lose them, too, and Stiles wasn’t sure he could deal with that.

So he left Beacon Hills two years ago, after graduating a year early from high school. His dad thought he was going to be applying for college. Stiles had let him believe that until, the summer after he graduated, Stiles packed up and left, leaving behind nothing but a few posters hanging on his walls and a note for his dad.

Since then, he called only once in a while, and he was usually careful to do it from a line that couldn’t be traced. He’d assure his dad, or Scott, that he was fine, he’d stop in soon, though he never really would. His dad occasionally yelled at him, Scott had cried more than once, and there hadn’t been a single conversation since he’d left between any of them that didn’t leave him feeling like shit.

But that’s just the way his life was. As Mads often said, “There is no room for normal people in our lives. Normal people get killed. Or they get us killed.”

“We’re heading out,” Mads said two hours later.

Stiles could barely focus on him. His head was pounding, and the world was blurry and at that moment he couldn’t even tell if Mads was right in front of him, or ten feet away. “’kay,” Stiles said slowly. “Bye.”

Mads raised his eyebrows. Probably. Stiles was, like, ninety percent sure that’s what he did. “You coming?”

Stiles shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got plans,” he said, flicking through his contacts. He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on the letters, but he couldn’t. He tossed the phone to Mads, who caught it easily. “Pull up Derek’s name for me,” he slurred.

“Who’s Derek?” Mads asked as he searched through Stiles’ phone before passing it back to him. “Just press talk.”

Stiles nodded. “Hot guy,” Stiles explained as his thumb pressed the talk button. “Hit me with his car. Maybe he’ll hit me with his--,”

“Dude,” Mads grimaced. “Don’t go there.”

Stiles grinned widely and listened as the phone rang once, twice, and then Derek answered with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Stiles said, stretching the ‘e’ way longer than necessary. Mads shook his head before walking off, probably to find Amy. “It’s St-- Miles, you know, you hit me with your car.”

“I remember,” Derek answered.

“Right, so,” Stiles coughed. “I was wondering if I could maybe take you up on that offer for a ride home?”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Really?” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Huh, I didn’t know that. So, can you pick me up or am I going to have to walk home completely inebriated, in a state of intoxication that could lead to someone possibly hitting me with their car-- oh wait, that already happened.”

“Where are you?” Derek asked, and Stiles could hear the sigh in his tone.

“At the place on Jacob street, Carpenters.” Stiles said quickly, only a bit surprised that Derek was _actually_ coming. And that he’d said carpenter in one try, without stuttering over the word at all.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Stiles flopped down on top of the bar. He turned his head to look at up at Jess, the wood of the bar cold on his cheek. “I’m going to get laid,” he informed her. “Maybe.”

Jess laughed and slapped a condom down on the table beside him. “Don’t be silly, wrap your willy,” she instructed.

Stiles grabbed the condom and shoved it in his pocket. “Good advice,” Stiles told her. “I hope you use it.”

“I always wear a condom,” she said easily.

Stiles laughed and let his eyes fall closed for just a second.

“Stiles,” Jess hissed, pushing on his shoulder.

Stiles jerked awake, eyes wide. It took him a few second to remember where he was, and then he took in Jess’s amused expression and groaned. “How long was I out for?”

“Only about ten minutes,” she told him. “Does your ride happen to have a body to die for, a face that you really want to sit on?”

Stiles quickly turned to look around the room, and he caught Derek’s eyes from where he stood awkwardly by the door. “Yep, that would be him,” Stiles answered without breaking eye contact with Derek. “See you tomorrow, Jess.”

“Have fun!” Jess called after him as he headed towards Derek with only a bit of difficulty.

When he got to Derek it looked like Derek was debating whether or not he should put an arm around Stiles to help him walk, so Stiles leaned against him, not giving him a choice. He was drunk, so it wasn’t like anyone could blame him. Plus, he wasn’t likely to remember, like, anything at all tomorrow.

“You know,” Derek said as he put a hand around Stiles’ waist while pushing open the door to the bar at the same time. “The first time I met you, you were laying on your back in front of my car, and the second time, you were passed out on a bar.”

Stiles grinned. “Don’t judge me, man.”

“Is this something that happens often?” Derek asked as they walked towards his car.

The cold air felt nice on his heated skin, and Derek smelled really good. “Only when I do something really stupid,” Stiles answered. “Like refusing to give my number to the hottest guy I’ve ever met when he asked for it.”

“Hottest guy you’ve ever met,” Derek repeated, loosening his grip on Stiles to pull open the passenger door of his car.

“Yeah, you should have seen him, totally gorgeous,” Stiles joked. Derek settled him into the seat and even reached over and pulled on his seatbelt for him. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was pleased by this, or annoyed.

“Your car is really nice on the inside,” Stiles commented when Derek got into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. “As apposed to, you know, the outside, when I’m splayed out on the ground, possibly concussed.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Derek asked, turning to Stiles with his eyebrows raised.

Stiles smiled merrily at him. “Nope. Ten years from now, we’ll tell our children about how you almost killed me when we first met.”

“I barely hit you,” Derek corrected. “And I have no idea where I’m taking you.”

“Oh,” Stiles’ eyes widened. “Right, um--,” he swallowed. He was an idiot. “I can’t remember,” Stiles lied.

“You can’t remember where you live.” Derek stated.

Stiles threw up his hands in defeat. “Apparently, no.”

Derek looked more amused than angry as he turned onto a side street. “Is this the way you usually pick up dates?” Derek asked. “Get drunk and then guilt trip them into taking you home?”

“Well, it does work.”

Derek laughed at that and Stiles leaned back in the seat, letting his eyes fall closed. It was nice, for once, to not be on alert. He was just driving around in a car with possibly the hottest guy ever, on the way to his _house_ , and he actually seemed kind of interested in Stiles. If he could just forget about his dad, and his home, and Scott, and the hunting, his life could almost be perfect.

He didn’t even realize that they’d stopped until Derek asked, “Can you walk?”

Stiles turned his head and blinked at him. “Yeah, for sure,” Stiles said with a wave of his hand. He fumbled with his seatbelt for a moment before Derek sighed and undid it for him.

Stiles climbed out of the car and shut the door behind himself before leaning on it for a minute, taking huge, gulping breaths. “I’m good,” Stiles said when Derek walked around the car and looked about ready to sling Stiles over his admittedly strong looking shoulders and carry him inside the apartment building. Not that he wouldn’t probably like that, but it was a matter of pride and also a habitual need to be able to take care of himself that he’d adapted over the years.

Still, Derek hovered close to him the whole time, like he was just waiting to catch Stiles when he inevitably tripped over his own feet.

Derek unlocked the door to the building, and Stiles stepped inside, taking in the place. It was really nice. Like, way too expensive for him to ever dream of type of nice. That really shouldn’t have been surprising, considering Derek’s car, but still. He seemed so young to have what must have been a lot of money, given what Stiles had seen so far of his lifestyle.

Stiles stumbled after Derek, who was heading for the elevator. It wasn’t until Derek stepped into the elevator, and Stiles followed him, that what they both knew was going to happen eventually actually did. Stiles tipped forward and lost his balance. The only thing that kept him up was Derek’s arms going automatically around his waist.

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered into Derek’s chest. He should have pulled back and straightened himself, but he didn’t. Derek didn’t push him away, either, just shuffled them forward a bit to hit the floor button, and then his arm went back around Stiles’ waist.

“Miles,” Derek said quietly.

“Mm?”

“Want to save the groping for when we’re actually in the apartment?”

Stiles released Derek’s ass, which he hadn’t even been consciously grabbing. Or so he’d say, if asked. “Right,” Stiles agreed as the elevator doors opened.

Derek kept an arm around him, just as he had when they’d left the bar, and guided him down the nicely decorated hallway before stopping in front of a door. He unlocked it quickly, they both stumbled over the threshold, and then the door was closing behind them and Derek was kissing him.

He wasn’t exactly sure how that started. It was like one minute, Derek’s arm was around his waist, and the next his tongue was in Stiles’ mouth.

Derek tasted like coffee and sugar and Stiles wanted more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hooked up with someone. Months ago, actually, in Maine. Jared. He’d been tall and thin and he played guitar at the local coffee shop.

He hadn’t realized until then just how starved for contact he’d been, but his fingers grasped the bottom of Derek’s shirt and he pushed it up, letting his hands roam over the smooth skin and hard muscle that he found there. Derek moaned into his mouth and Stiles let his hands lower to Derek’s jeans, wishing for the first time that night that he wasn’t so freaking drunk, because he’d very much so like to get Derek’s jeans off, like, yesterday.

“Miles,” Derek groaned.

“Stiles,” Stiles corrected. “My real name is Stiles. Miles is just the name I use on strangers.”

“Stiles,” Derek repeated, pulling back. Stiles want him to pull back, though. “We need to stop.”

Stiles shook his head to quickly that the room, which he hadn’t even noticed before that, to be honest, spun. “No, no way! We need to get naked, actually. Definitely naked.”

Derek took a step back, releasing his hold on Stiles. “You’re really drunk,” Derek said flatly. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

Stiles’ mouth gaped open. “Come on, dude, I’m not that drunk. I’m totally consenting. Seriously. Get me a pen and paper, I’ll write it down and sign it and everything.”

Derek moved towards him again, and kissed him long and slow, his lips slick and soft against Stiles’. “Tomorrow,” Derek said against his lips. “If you still want to. When you’re _sober_. For now, sleep.”

“In your bed?” Stiles asked, grinning suggestively.

“On the _couch_ ,” Derek corrected.

Stiles groaned. “Tomorrow, remind me of how much of a fun suck you are.”

“We can have fun sucking,” Derek called over his shoulder as he headed farther into his apartment. “Tomorrow.”

Stiles hesitated, mouth falling open again, and then he closed it and followed Derek past the hallway. The whole apartment had white walls and barely any personal belongings. Everything looked expensive, but it didn’t feel homey at all. It was almost like a hotel.

Derek grabbed a blanket and pillow from the closet and tossed them on the couch. Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek’s back but took his shoes off and then padded towards the couch and laid down. “Thanks again for picking me up, dude.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Derek told him, walking towards a door that Stiles assumed led to his bedroom. “You’re not the only one who had a thing against strangers knowing where you live."

 

\--

 

Stiles woke up in an unfamiliar apartment with an all too familiar taste in his mouth. He grimaced and sat up and tried to figure out where the fuck he was.

There wasn’t anything in the apartment that could tell him whose place he’d crashed at. He also never made a habit of staying somewhere unless he knew everything about the place, knew every exit and possible hiding place. Just to be safe.

He pushed back the blanket covering him and stood up, pausing just long enough to shrug. He had to have drunken a shitload last night. He _told_ Mads to cut him off if he was getting ahead of himself. He was totally kicking his best friend’s ass when he got back from… wherever the hell he was.

Stiles figured he could just grab his shoes and get out of there. Until Derek walked of out his bedroom, wearing nothing but a tight pair of grey briefs, casually tugging a hand through his sleep-mused hair.

“You’re up,” Derek commented.

Stiles stared at him, and everything slowly started to piece together. Passing out at the bad, Derek picking him up, making out with Derek, and then passing out once again, this time on Derek’s couch.

“Mostly,” Stiles said slowly. “I feel like shit, though.”

Derek looked amused. Stiles didn’t really think that was fair, considering the fact that he was still just standing there, practically naked. Impressively so, if he was being honest. Derek was all toned muscle and smooth skin. Though the lack of chest hair was surprising, given the amount of hair on his face.

“You can take a shower, if you want, and then I can drive you home. Or down the block, if it’d make you feel better,” he added, a teasing lilt to his tone.

“Funny,” Stiles said dryly. His head was pounding, and it felt like he’d run halfway across the country last night. And he was pretty sure a small village of smurfs had turned his mouth into an outhouse. “Shower,” he nodded. “Towel?”

“In the bathroom.”

Stiles nodded again and then headed towards the door that Derek hadn’t come out of.

The bathroom was small but clean and modern looking. Stiles shut the door behind himself and put his palms flat on the sink counter. He took in his appearance; his hair was a mess, but not in a bad way, really, but there was a red mark on his cheek from sleeping, and his eyes were crusted with sleep. He rubbed at them before running the water.

Right, so Derek had said… tomorrow, right? And it was tomorrow.

Stiles did his best to clean his mouth out using his finger as a makeshift toothbrush, and then took a swig of Derek’s mouthwash. He splashed water on his face and then peeled off his shirt before adding his pants, and then his boxers, to the pile.

He sucked in a breath and put a hand on the doorknob. He could do this. It wasn’t like he was an awkward virgin anymore. He knew what he was doing-- mostly. He was confident with himself, and Derek was pretty into him last night, so why would today be any different?

Stiles opened the door and peaked his head out. “Derek,” Stiles called.

He heard Derek’s footsteps approaching, and then Derek came into view, coming from what must have been the kitchen. “Problem?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know how your shower works, dude,” Stiles lied. He hadn’t even pulled back the shower curtain.

“You just--,”

“Show me?” Stiles asked quickly.

Derek stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Stiles took a step back, letting the door fall open more, and Derek stepped into the small room. Stiles leaned against the counter, fingers gripping the edges hard while he attempted to look casual and desirable.

Yeah, he was totally naked and on display. Derek realized that, and his eyes widened, but he just walked past Stiles to the shower, pulled back the curtain, and turned the water on. “If you want it hotter, you use this. If you want it colder, you use this one,” he said, pointing in turn to each dial.

Stiles nodded. “You could always just join me,” Stiles suggested, sounding a lot more bold and confident than he felt.

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought the better of it and closed his mouth again. He moved past where Stiles was lounging against the counter, and Stiles felt like an idiot. Of course he’d been wrong about Derek liking him. And he probably looked really slutty, leaning against the counter completely naked, like he was in a freaking porno or something, and Derek was leaving and--

No, Derek was closing the bathroom door and tugging his briefs down.

Stiles licked his dry lips as his eyes followed Derek’s briefs as they slid down his thighs and then down the rest of his legs to pool at his feet. He stepped out of them, and in the tiny bathroom, the move made it so he was almost pressed flush against Stiles.

Derek put a hand on Stiles’ hip. “Are we just going to stand here and waste hot water, or are we going to get in the shower?”

Stiles’ eyes dropped from Derek’s face, down his body, following the hip indentations that led lower, to where Derek was already on his way to getting hard. “Definitely getting in,” Stiles said before meeting his eyes again.

Stiles had never showered with anyone else before. Derek was a pretty big guy, and Stiles, with all his training and field work, wasn’t exactly lacking in the size department either. It was a little crowded in the small space of the shower, and he couldn’t find a way to stand that didn’t involve having water pour over his face, into his eyes and mouth.

But Derek was plastered against his back, and he couldn’t really find it in him to care.

Stiles arched against Derek, trying to get more contact between them. Derek’s lips found his neck and Stiles sighed, letting his head fall back against Derek’s shoulder, giving him better access.

That must have been what Derek wanted, because as a reward his hands slid down Stiles’ arms, over his stomach, and then went lower. Stiles’ tensed in anticipation, waiting for Derek to finally get this going to what he needed, but Derek’s hand slid right through the now damp, dark curls there, and kept going, completely bypassing his cock to cup his balls instead.

Stiles groaned and wiped the water off his face before turning. He wrapped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled his closer, pressing their lips together. It was a wet kiss, what with the water dripped from his hair, but neither of them seemed to really mind.

Stiles took a step forward, and Derek took a step back. It wasn’t exactly easy, given the fact that they floor of the shower was slippery, and they probably would have fallen, if it weren’t for Derek’s steadying arm around his waist. Still, Stiles somehow managed to affectively get Derek pressed against the wall without either of them suffering from any injuries.

He met Derek’s eye and grinned before grinding his body against Derek’s. Derek groaned but Stiles stopped the sound with another kiss. He let his lips slid off of Derek’s, down his jaw, over the delicious stubble there, to his neck. From there, he went lower, occasionally scraping his teeth along with his lips over the skin of Derek’s chest, and then stomach, and then the very top of his thigh.

Being on your knees in a shower is uncomfortable. The look on Derek’s face, eyes heavily lidded, lips parted, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, were more than enough to make up for that slight inconvenience.

Stiles had given blowjobs before. It wasn’t something he had a _lot_ of practice with, but he wasn’t a fumbling virgin anymore, either. He could do this.

He wrapped his hand around Derek’s cock and leaned forward, testing the waters first by running the flat of his tongue over the tip. Derek made a guttural sound and Stiles took that as a win. He spread his lips over the top next, and was about to move down, to see how far he could take Derek in his mouth, when a sound reached his ears over the running water.

Stiles pulled back and met Derek’s narrowed eyes. “You’re not actually going to get that, right?”

Stiles bit the inside of his lip. The phone kept ringing.

He really, _really_ didn’t want to. In fact, he’d be happy to turn his phone off and spend the whole day in Derek’s shower, and then his bed, and maybe the couch and the kitchen counter, too, if they were up to it, but he couldn’t.

“I have to,” Stiles told him, because it was the truth. The phone call could just be Mads telling him to pick up milk on the way home, or it could be someone calling for help. He didn’t have a choice.

Stiles stood up and stumbled out of the shower, soaking Derek’s floor -- he’d have to apologize for that afterwards-- and nearly falling flat on his face. He fumbled with his jeans and was thankful that the phone was still ringing when he pulled it out of his pants.

“Hello?” Stiles answered, pressing the phone to his ear. He turned and watched as Derek turned off the water and grabbed a towel off the rack. He wrapped it around his waist and crossed his arms over his chest. Water from his hair continued to cascade downwards, over his pecks, down to the little trail of hair that led to places that Stiles hadn’t gotten to explore as thoroughly as he’d of liked.

“Where are you?” Mads barked loudly.

Stiles winced and Derek raised his eyebrows, obviously having heard. “I’m at a… friends.” Stiles said, before it was the best answer he could give. The truth was a little too complicated to explain quickly.

“You watching the news?”

“Uh, no?” Stiles frowned. “Why the hell would I be watching the news?”

Mads sighed. “You’re so lucky you have me,” he told Stiles. “Turns out that the dude you took out last night wasn’t an omega. He had a pack.”

Stiles turned away from Derek to hide his surprised expression. “How do you know that?” he hissed.

“Because it was all over the news, dumbass, which you would know if you ever took the time to watch it!” Mads said loudly. “And we really need to start covering up the bodies, because it was everywhere, dude, and the police say they’re investigating the murder. And do you want to know what was written on the wall of the building that the body was found behind?”

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “Not really.”

“It said, ‘An eye for an eye,’ dude, which means that they’re not going to stop looking for us. We’re going to have to figure out how many of them there are, and take them out.”

Stiles sighed. “We’ll talk when I get home.”

“Which is…?”

“Soon,” Stiles said, turning to Derek’s still nearly naked body one last, forlorn look.

Stiles hung up his phone and put it on the counter before grabbing the other towel hanging off the rack, wrapping it around himself the way that Derek had. “You have to go,” Derek guessed.

Stiles grimaced. “It’s an emergency. Trust me, I really, really don’t want to.”

Derek didn’t look upset. He just shrugged. “Do you mind?” he asked, nodding at the door.

Stiles nodded and moved out of the way, allowing Derek to leave the bathroom. Stiles waited until the door shut behind him and then he pulled the towel from around his waist and quickly died his hair and then the rest of his body. He hung the towel back up, not sure what else to do with it, and pulled his clothes from yesterday back on.

Derek was fully clothed when Stiles stepped out of the bathroom, but his hair was still a bit damp. Stiles kind of wanted to run his hands through it.

“Need a ride?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m good to walk. But thanks. For offering. And for last night,” he said awkwardly.

Derek nodded and they both just stood there for a few moments, neither knowing what to say until, finally, Stiles broke the silence. “So, um, can I call you? Or is that-- is that something you would be against?”

Derek hesitated for a moment, and Stiles took that as a no, until he said, “You can call me.”

Stiles grinned. “Great, I’ll, uh, do that. Tomorrow. Or something.”

Derek’s lips twitched up into a small smile and Stiles walked past him to the front door. He slipped on his shoes as Derek followed him. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

Stiles actually freaking waved on his way out the door. He wasn’t sure who he was more upset with after that: himself, or Mads.

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up, this isn't going to be extremely long. I think there's going to be three chapters, all together. Possibly even two, depending on how this goes. I'm thinking there's going to be a maximum or 30k words, if that. I started out wanting this to be a short, possibly 2k words long one-shot, but it got away from me, and somehow I've already written 8k, and it's not near done yet. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! -C


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